


Admiration

by gwennolmarie



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drawing, Fix-It, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pre-Relationship, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, this is a multi-chap now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: Things are coming to a head in the van der Linde gang.Arthur's only solid hold on sanity happens to be a gentle photographer who can read him too easily.





	1. Art

“Mr. Morgan, you have saved me once again,” Albert’s leaning over, hand on his knee and catching his breath as he sets down his camera.

Arthur chuckles quietly, rubs a hand over his softened jaw and shrugs.

They’d been running from a big bull of a boar.

Finally lost the beast by sliding down a moderate grade, muddy cliff.

“Oh, look at the state of my trousers!” Albert cries, aimlessly wiping at the mess.

“Oh, You’ll be fine,” Arthur pats the younger man’s shoulder before pulling back, “Little soap and water’ll take it right out.”

Albert huffs and pulls a handkerchief from a pocket in his vest.

Roughly rubs the dirt from his hands.

Arthur feels himself smiling in amusement.

A touch fond.

“I suppose you’re right,” Albert relents, taking his bag from Arthur.

“Well,” Arthur clears his throat, peers into the trees, “S’pose you should call your horse and head back to town?”

Albert mutters something, shakes his head.

Focuses on the older man.

“I’m in your debt, Mr. Morgan,” Albert quirks his lips to the side in contemplation.

“Nah, nah,” Arthur makes a dismissive motion with his hands.

“I insist,” Albert lays a mostly clean hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “I recall you talking once about your drawings?”

“I… Er, I _try_ to draw,” Arthur resists the urge to shrug.

Doesn’t want to lose the contact.

“And you said something about drawing flowers? Yes?” Albert smiles at him kindly.

“Sure,” Arthur shifts his weight.

It isn’t conscious.

He thinks it’s the slight loss of balance that comes from gaining several pounds in a short period of time.

He doesn’t realize he’s leaned into the touch.

Albert does.

“Well then! How does it sound for me to treat you to a visit to the botanical gardens? Just a city over,” Albert squeezes Arthur’s shoulder lightly then lowers his hand slowly.

Watches Arthur’s forlorn gaze follow it all the way to his side.

Arthur looks up, a faint smile pulling his lips.

“Sure,” He repeats.

\--

The gardens are more than he could have dreamed of.

Colors of flowers he didn’t even know _existed_.

Albert paid for their tickets and led him past the crowds, through an open garden to a greenhouse in the way-back.

“Been here before?” Arthur asks.

“Hah, yes, I used to photograph the butterflies, right after I quit taking portraits of ‘high society’,” Albert says.

Opens the glass and wood door.

It’s warm, almost suffocating at first.

Humid and hot.

Everything is _green_.

The colors are distinctly exotic, he passes a flower as Albert leads him further into the greenhouse that he swears is orange and _blue_.

Albert is obviously familiar in this setting, his fingertips occasionally reaching out to brush the leaves, while his other holds his camera.

Arthur volunteered to carry the younger man’s bag.

His own on his hip.

There’s a second section to the greenhouse.

A small room, a glass ceiling.

A small metal table and set of stools.

The walls are covered in vines, some with blooms, others with captivating veining-patterns.

Arthur whistles lowly.

Albert chuckles and moves to set up his camera in the corner, facing the table.

“I hope this is adequate for you to draw?” Albert poses the question.

“It’s… It’s real fine, Mr. Mason,” Arthur says, hushed as he moves to examine one of the small peachy flowers.

Rounded, fluted edge on an elongated cone-shape.

“Trumpet vine,” Albert says from behind him, “Hummingbirds love it.”

Arthur twitches slightly.

Hadn’t realized he’d gotten absorbed enough to not hear the younger man moving around.

“Pretty,” Arthur says, “You take pictures of them too?”

“The birds? Only briefly, I found they like me about as much as wolves do,” Albert says, obviously amused.

Arthur hands over Albert’s bag then takes a seat at the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Albert says as he goes back to his camera, “If I take a couple of photographs of the artist?”

“Mr. Mason,” Arthur huffs, “I really ain’t much-of-a artist.”

“Hm,” Albert smiles widely at him, ducks behind the camera.

Arthur can’t fight the twitching of his own lips, the other man’s radiance contagious.

He pulls out his journal and starts sketching the ‘trumpet’ flower.

Gets absorbed.

Hears the spark and pop of the camera going off.

Glances up.

Albert gives him a reassuring look.

Motions him to continue.

Arthur sees him in his peripheral, moving to get a different angle.

“Oh!” He hears Albert exclaim, from behind him while he’s fleshing out a drawing of a section in the room.

“What?” Arthur asks and cocks his head back to look up at Albert.

The younger man flusters.

“Ah, I just,” Albert shifts, “Mr. Morgan, I’m really not quite sure how you don’t consider yourself an artist!”

Arthur gives the younger man a funny look.

A little bit taken aback, not quite believing.

“No, honestly,” Albert insists and moves closer to point at part of the drawing, “The detail you’ve captured! It’s perfect, not overly rendered but has a _liveliness_ to it.”

“Mr. Mason,” Arthur drawls, “You flatter me.”

“I’d hope so,” Albert replies, like he didn’t really mean to say it.

Looks a little shocked at himself.

Arthur quirks a brow at the younger man then gestures to one of the other stools.

“Lemme draw you, then, if I’m such an _artist_.”

“I’d… I’d be honored, Mr. Morgan.”

“Call me Arthur.”

“Well,” Albert ducks his head and rubs his hands over his pant legs as he sits, “Call me Al, then.”

The younger man had ducked into the local hotel’s bathing rooms to change into a spare pair of trousers.

Arthur had just brushed the dried mud off his dark pants and hoped it didn’t show too much.

Not that it mattered, people in these parts stared at him like some kind of circus animal anyway.

Al shifts into a comfortable pose, one ankle crossed over the opposite leg’s knee.

His hands folded over each other, resting on his calf.

Arthur decides to tease him a bit.

“Can ya tilt your head up a bit?”

Al lifts his chin, slightly.

“Relax your shoulders?”

Al does as asked.

“And then look at me?”

Brown eyes lift to meet his and Arthur almost regrets his request.

Flusters, a bit.

Al looks so _pleased_.

In a way Arthur hasn’t seen him before.

“Tha’s good,” Arthur clears his throat and starts sketching.

Glancing up to Al’s face.

Back to the page.

Again and again.

While carefully moving the lead of his pencil over the page.

He isn’t the best at portraits, prefers landscapes.

But he wants to live up to Al’s expectations.

He wants the younger man’s praise and pride.

When he’s done he hesitates.

Scans the page over and over for any flaw he could fix before showing the man.

He _could_ start over.

“Are you finished?” Al asks, beaming with excitement.

“Er… Yeah, I guess,” Arthur says and slides the sketchbook across the table.

Al takes it reverently.

Lips parted slightly as he studies Arthur’s image of himself.

“Your name is quite appropriate,” Al murmurs.

“How so?”

“Your calling?” Al smiles up at him, reaches across the table to squeeze Arthur’s thick wrist where the older man’s fist is clenched around the pencil.

Arthur relaxes at the touch.

Doesn’t mean to.

“Art.”


	2. Good Luck

Arthur goes back to camp.

Finds himself missing the younger man at night, as he lays in his cot.

Stares at the ceiling of his lean-to.

He hadn’t realized, before that day.

How much he enjoyed the younger man’s company.

It hurts, a little.

He knows.

Knows that eventually, he’ll have to let the other man go.

For Albert’s sake.

Arthur doesn’t want to drag him into this mess.

After Guarma?

With the way Dutch is…

\--

When Arthur dreams that night, it’s of Al.

It’s of the younger man looking out across a field of flowers.

Taking pictures of the buck in the distance while Arthur sits on the ground next to him and draws his friend.

He wakes up with a deep-seated longing to see the younger man again.

It pulls him.

Like a tugging in his soul, westward.

To a cliff overlooking a river.

He doesn’t know how he knew.

But there’s Al.

Poised behind his camera, aiming at something down in the river below.

“Well, whatever your subject is, ‘least ya learned to keep your distance,” Arthur says, hushed as to not disturb whatever creature the younger man’s chosen today.

“Goodness,” Albert hisses and jumps back from his camera.

Stumbles.

Almost topples over but Arthur scoops an arm under the man and steadies the younger.

“You alright, Al?” Arthur asks quietly, highly amused.

No matter how many times he does this, Albert is never prepared.

He wonders if the younger man gets lost in taking pictures.

The way Arthur gets lost in drawing.

“Arthur, I must ask that you stop doing that, lest I die early of a failing heart!” Al berates quietly.

Arthur grins and lets the younger man go, when his own heart seems to beat a little too quickly.

“I ain’t promisin’,” Arthur teases, “You’re too easy to spook. Like a damn rabbit.”

“Hah,” Al shakes his head and moves back to his camera.

Makes adjustments.

“So whatchu capturin’ today?”

“The great grizzly!” Albert whispers excitedly.

“Well,” Arthur rubs the back of his neck, “I’m glad you’re up here, then. Otherwise, I’d be forced to think you really _did_ have a death wish.”

“Well, I have little fear of dying, as long as you’re around,” Al says casually.

Arthur’s chest hitches.

Staring wide-eyed at the back of younger man’s head.

Al isn’t wearing his hat, Arthur notices.

He looks good.

A little softer, a little more relaxed.

Arthur moves up next to him and peers over the edge of the cliff.

“You know that ain’t a grizzly, right?” Arthur asks.

“What?” Al pops his head up, a baffled expression on his face.

Arthur can’t stop himself from chuckling.

“Nah, you ain’t got those in the South, gotta go way North,” Arthur shrugs, “Montana or somethin’.”

“Then, ah, what kind of bear is that?”

“What color is it?” Arthur teases.

Al grimaces slightly.

“Black.”

“Perhaps you should invest in some kinda illustrated guide,” Arthur jokes, “If you’re tryin’ to capture the image of these beasts. Oughta know what they are.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Al says miserably, then looks down at the bear.

Peacefully catching fish, unaware of the bigger predators above him.

“People still hunt them,” Arthur tries to soothe.

The younger man smiles slightly at him.

“It’s a shame,” Al says and looks back to the bear, “They truly are beautiful.”

“They _are_ deadly,” Arthur edges.

“Yes, but we both know that isn’t why their stuffed corpses get displayed,” Al says fiercely, “Flaunted.”

Stares down the older man until Arthur relents and holds his hands up.

“I ain’t the one killin’ when it ain’t for meals or materials, least not animals,” Arthur says.

Doesn’t quite realize what he’s admitted until Al’s expression changes.

Looks a little fearful, suddenly.

“I… Uh,” Arthur’s hands drop, limply.

This isn’t how he wanted things to end.

“What does that mean?” Al asks quietly.

“I said I was a bad man, Mr. Mason.”

“Murder isn’t what I had assumed you were implying.”

Arthur closes his eyes tightly and dips his head so the rim of his hat blocks his view of Al’s face.

“I’ll take my leave,” Arthur mutters and starts to walk away.

A gentle hand curling around his elbow stops him.

Arthur lifts his head, the barest hint of hope building in his chest.

“I… I think I’d like you to explain further, before any… Drastic decisions are made,” Al squeezes Arthur’s arm.

Feels the older man lean into the touch.

Feels his own chest ache, a little, in sympathy for how needful of affection Arthur seems.

And Al can guarantee the older man would never admit it, or allow it to continue if he was aware.

So Arthur explains.

About his parents, about Dutch and Hosea, the gang and how it grew and grew and how maybe their cause got lost in the sea of heads trying to stay afloat in a world that was outgrowing their line of ‘work’. About how everything seemed to be heading South quicker than before and how they’d lost some of their best and almost lost more and how no matter how much they _lost_ Dutch couldn’t be _reasoned with_.

Al gently rubs his thumb over the crook of Arthur’s elbow.

Making soft noises of encouragement when Arthur falters.

The older man looks naught but guilty at the end of it.

Al smiles sadly.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Al says.

“What for?” Arthur’s brow furrows and the older man won’t quite meet Al’s eyes.

“For being honest with me. It seems like you have an idea, of what you might need to do.”

Arthur sucks on his teeth.

Closes his eyes and nods.

“I gotta get ‘em out, some of ‘em… They came in under desperate times, most of us did. I gotta get ‘em to see, that there’s _more_ ,” Arthur says hoarsely, “There has to be _more_.”

Arthur startles a little when both of his shoulders are gripped tight by Al’s soft, uncalloused hands.

“Of course there’s more, Mr. Morgan,” Al smiles, “There’s always more.”

“I know it’s out there, I just don’t know how to get _out there_.”

“You’ll find your way, Arthur, I believe in you,” Al says and lets go with one last squeeze.

Arthur finally lifts his gaze to the soft brown of Albert’s eyes.

“You always seem to know where to find me,” Al jokes, “I wish, sometimes, it worked the other way around.”

Arthur huffs an amused sound and shakes his head, settles his hand on his belt.

“Keep away from them _grizzlies_ , Mr. Mason,” Arthur says and tips his hat.

Starts heading down the hill that leads up to the cliff.

“Arthur?” Al calls.

Arthur pauses and squints up at Al’s silhouette against the bright day’s sky.

“Good luck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> check out my main tumblr @gwennolmarie or the tumblr for original writings and original commissions @providentialeyes


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